


The Rebound Effect

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Law & Order, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Drunken Flirting, F/F, Random Encounters, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6682513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cop and a lawyer walk into a bar....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rebound Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Joanne_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/gifts), [PrettyLittlePoutyMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyLittlePoutyMouth/gifts).



> I don't know if this will be the best thing I've ever written, but my head won't let go of the idea, so here it is.

_This wouldn't have happened if she hadn't given me a key._

Somewhere underneath the booze, Amanda knew that it was probably no one's fault, but in the moment of it it was easier to blame Olivia. Because otherwise she was the gullible idiot who had let a lightweight piece of metal convince her that she was in a relationship rather than just having a fling. Or that having a key meant she wasn't supposed to knock before using it. And there had been too much whiskey to analyze the situation without being hurt and pissed. Maybe tomorrow, when she was sober, it would be different.

"Fuckin' lawyer...."

Or maybe not.

She'd known about the lawyer on a peripheral level, the way most people knew about someone else's past. But she hadn't expected to open the door at Liv's place and find her and the lawyer still in the afterglow. Amanda drained the glass in her hand, signaled the bartender for a refill. Whether she blamed herself or Olivia or Alex, she just wanted to get enough to drink to get under the feelings. Just for tonight.

"Problems?"

Abbie asked the question with mild interest, having taken the seat a space down from the blonde at the bar. Familiar, but no name to go with the face. She'd seen her in court, probably. Having gradually worked her way up in the New York branch of the US Attorney's office, she'd become the chief federal prosecutor for the state, and so she spent a lot of time trying cases. Abbie ran through the options after she ordered a glass of wine. Major crimes? Vice? The boots the other woman was wearing made it unlikely that she was part of the white collar crime unit. Too scuffed up, as if she routinely used them to chase down perps. And despite the lopsided smile on her face when she half-turned on her seat, the brunette doubted she made a habit of solo drinking.

"Counselor."

Amanda was just getting to that point where her mouth was going numb, but she managed not to slur the greeting. It took her a minute to put the pieces together; sharp business casual and a light jacket tossed on the bar were a big hint, but the dark, intelligent eyes behind black-framed glasses made it click. She'd never testified for the prosecutor herself, but when you spent a big chunk of time in and around the courthouse, the same faces kept cropping up. Law enforcement was a very small world, which is why the blonde was idly considering a transfer. And it occurred to her for a half-second that the last thing she wanted was to talk to _another_ lawyer right now, and then she put that aside. If only because this wasn't the one she'd seen half-covered with a sheet.

"Working dinner?"

She gestured towards the restaurant area, and Abbie nodded, because she was waiting on a colleague she'd consulted earlier that day. "She's probably going to be late, because she's usually late, so I'm cooling my heels for now."

There was a pause as the attorney's drink arrived, and then she said, "I knew you looked familiar, but I can't quite..."

"Rollins," the blonde said, then self-corrected. "Amanda." Last names tended to roll off the tongue more easily after a while, mostly because it decreased the likelihood of familiarity with suspects. "Special victims."

"Oh, _right >_," the other woman said with a nod. "I meet so many people. I was hoping we hadn't been introduced four or five times already and it slipped my mind."

"I've been told I have an...interesting face," the cop said, directing her attention to the clock on the wall above the shelf of bottles. Jesus, was it only nine? "Do you always meet your co-workers so late, Counselor?"

"She lives on Staten Island, so she has to wait until the traffic subsides to a sane level before attempting the drive. And on weeknights it's worse, so she might be even later than usual." The doors leading out to the street opened, letting in a blast of noise from passing traffic, and a party of four followed it the wake of it. Next to her, Amanda sampled her drink, and Abbie took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

In the mirror behind the bar, the blonde saw the glasses come off, and without them the lawyer looked older. Had she seen her wearing them in court? She couldn't remember, and it probably didn't matter. She held her gaze on the reflective surface until the prosecutor folded the frames and tucked the glasses out of sight in her jacket pocket. When their eyes met in the mirror, the blonde looked away, vaguely discomfited.

"One of those days?"

"Somethin' like that."

If she pressed, she might seem pushy, but what the hell? She wasn't going to sit here like a knot on a log just because she'd maybe had one too many drinks. Talking might even keep her from diving _too_ deep into a glass, which would reduce the size of her hangover. Did she have any V8 in the fridge? Maybe she should stop at the twenty-four hour Quik Pak around the corner from her place before crashing and look for some.

"Work or otherwise?"

"Work. A case of weapons dealing, and it's spilling over across state lines. I'm trying to hang onto jurisdiction." A note of muted irritation crept into Abbie's voice, and she added, "You would think that being at the federal level now, I wouldn't have to jockey with someone from another office. But I guess territorial wars never go out of style."

Amanda snorted under her breath, tapped the rim of her glass. "It's hard enough keeping somebody else's hands out of the way on a local basis. The bigger the pot, the more cooks try to horn in."

"As for 'otherwise', I don't have much time for that," Abbie said with a shrug. "I spend more time in the office than at home, particularly when I'm having to slap the hand of some overly ambitious D.A.'s clerk from another borough every other minute." She shook her head, but she allowed herself a rueful smile.

"Findin' that hard to believe. About the...otherwise."

Amanda's voice was distracted when she said it, because she was going through her bag looking for her phone. But she glanced up once, into the mirror, and saw the other woman smile a little more widely. The clock told her it was closing in on ten. She'd left her watch at home on the dresser, and it needed a new battery anyway. She'd have to check the Quik Pak for one when she made her stop.

"So this colleague of yours, she isn't more than a work acquaintance?" The blonde finally located the phone at the very bottom of her bag, and she wiped the screen with a crumpled Kleenex before checking for texts.

It wasn't the first time Abbie had heard that, either implied or overt. It wasn't even the first time she'd heard it from another woman. She watched the cop futz with her cell for a few minutes, then set it down on the polished wooden surface of the bar. Then Amanda turned to face her, and they studied each other for another minute or two. The brunette tapped the rim of her wineglass contemplatively.

"No, we just work together. Mixing work and dating is usually bad news."

"Mmm. Shame." The blonde's natural drawl had thickened as the evening progressed, and she propped one elbow on the bar before adding, "Because you? Are really damn stunning, and I was thinkin' that maybe we could get to know each other. Unprofessionally." And why the hell not? She was a free agent now, she guessed, since she only needed to catch someone once. 

Abbie laughed, a low sound that tightened Amanda's stomach. "How many of those have you had?" the prosecutor asked, indicating the now-empty glass on the bar. The cop looked at the piece of barware she'd been drinking from, tried to do a mental tally. Her shoulders went up and down, shrugging the question off.

"Not that many. Not so many that I'd hate myself in the morning." She paused long enough to watch the bartender collect the glass and take it away, nixed the idea of another refill. If she didn't stop putting it away now, she wouldn't be able to move tomorrow, much less work. Her walk of shame would be the one on the way to hug the toilet. She rubbed a hand over her mouth, which was still half-numb.

"Or, if that 'usually' thing actually means 'always', I can take it back and we can pretend I never said anything. Your choice, Counselor."

The brunette had been nursing her glass of wine while she sat, and she finished the last of it before removing a business card from her wallet. She'd had them printed when she first got the top job at the office. Turning it over, she wrote her private cell number on the unmarked expanse on the card, then slipped it across the small space in the detective's direction. Amanda looked at it owlishly before picking it up.

"Call me Abbie. And call me when you're sober."

"Mmm."

It was an amused noise, and the next time the doors leading outside, another blonde in a mid-level power suit stepped inside and looked around. Amanda tucked the card into her back pocket, made a mental note to check before she tossed her jeans in the washing machine. And reminded herself to pick up some V8 on the way home. And a watch battery if she could find one.

Abbie held out her hand, and the cop took it. They shook, and the brunette paused before letting go. 'Usually' _did_ mean 'always' most of the time, but the exceptions were what made the rule work.

"Get home safe. And don't forget to call me."

"I won't."

Amanda watched Abbie go greet her colleague, trying not to stare _too_ hard at the ass inside those dark slacks. Not that the rest of her wasn't terrific. Those glasses? **Rowr!**

The cop paid her tab for the night, got ready to clear out. Her earlier pissed-off idea about asking for a transfer had been shelved, possibly for the duration. She had a rapport with her co-workers now, and she'd hate to have to learn the routine somewhere else. She could work out everything else later.

"Just don't forget to check your pockets."


End file.
